


Magic Mirror

by auricolet



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Angst, Darkfic, F/M, Sylvia Plath - Freeform, old repost, poetry based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:09:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5705446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auricolet/pseuds/auricolet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah facing her fears and fantasies in years after the Labyrinth. Inspired by the poetry of Sylvia Plath. Evil!Jareth. M for sexual themes, violence and ideologically sensitive material. Ending on a more consensual note.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Owl

**Author's Note:**

> The story here is largely based on Sylvia Plath's poetry, I did NOT write any of the poems preceding the chapters. Based on my interpretations of the poems, I went from there. This is definitely a less sympathetic side of Jareth, but ends in a more mutual situation. Expect no happy ending. 
> 
> Magic Mirror was written back in 2008, and posted on FFnet. I decided to repost in honor of Bowie's passing, and because I thought the audience here might also enjoy it. These may be edited slightly to upgrade them a little from their original posting.

**Owl**   
  
_Clocks belled twelve. Main street showed otherwise_   
_Than its suburb of woods : nimbus---_   
_Lit, but unpeopled, held its windows_   
_Of wedding pastries,_   
  
_Diamond rings, potted roses, fox-skins_   
_Ruddy on the wax mannequins_   
_In a glassed tableau of affluence._   
_From deep-sunk basements_   
  
_What moved the pale, raptorial owl_   
_Then, to squall above the level_   
_Of streetlights and wires, its wall to wall_   
_Wingspread in control_   
  
_Of the ferrying currents, belly_   
_Dense-feathered, fearfully soft to_   
_Look upon? Rats' teeth gut the city_   
_Shaken by owl cry._

* * *

  
  
Midnight.   
  
Sarah stared, unblinking, at the blaring red numbers of the digital clock, transfixed.  Light through the naked windows emanated from the streetlamps below.  Rain serenely pattered against the roof and window panes –she knew she was still not safe.  
  
Anxiously she shoved the blankets away from her body, and took hold of the container of salt at her bedside.  She glanced around the room, eyes bloodshot, trying to find a break in her protective circle. Salt was scattered on the sill of the apartment’s lone window, and by the crack of the door. Still fearful, the young woman scampered to the kitchen, and pulled up on the faucet tap so quickly the water pipes made a dull thudding noise below, as the faucet itself gushed into the sink with ferocity.    
  
 _Salt, running water…_ Sarah frantically reached for the tap of the bathroom sink, and suddenly pulled off her nightshirt, flipping it inside out.  She hurried back to the bed, sprinkling more salt to solidify her smaller protective circle.  She clung to the blankets, still gripped by fear. _Inside out…_  
  
Wind suddenly howled. She got up again, and with horror saw the sink faucet of the kitchen slowing to a drip, mimicking the sprinkling of rain above her.  Muffled scuffling surrounded her, accompanied by a hissing sound akin to laughter.  She glanced at the ceiling and floorboards, trying to find the source, and futilely praying that the creatures were rats.     
  
The room filled with light, and then dark in an instant, followed by an ominous roar of thunder.  The wind screamed then, in protest.  Sarah, barefoot and stranded in her kitchen, was stricken with terror as the window forced itself open.  In the midst of the tempest, a white owl held to the sill with frightening calm – its eyes of different colors. It watched her with a distinctly predatory glare.    
In another flash he was there: arrogant and imposing, his eyes gleaming, unchanged.    
  
“Salt, Sarah? _Salt_?” his sardonic voice etched itself from her memory.   
_Salt, running water, inside out_ ….. She forced herself to meet his eyes. _Iron_. She tried to grasp her pendant.  
  
And he was there, against her – his breath was hot against her neck. “Don’t even try, precious thing.” His hand encircled her wrist firmly.  Sarah was shaking, and closed her eyes, unable to bear all of her senses reacting to him.  She took a deep breath, unwittingly inhaling the sweet scent of the woodlands and forbidden promises.    
  
“…you’re the Goblin King.” Her voice was hushed, breath forced from her body. He breathed near her mouth again. She struggled against him, and felt his hold on her strengthen, his body rigidly pressed against hers.  His teeth grazed her neck, and her throat constricted.   
  
“How observant of you…I’m glad to see you recognize me after all this time.”    
“You’re not easily forgotten.” She spoke, accusing him, as she regained slight composure.   
  
“Oh? I haven’t been lost in all of your memories?” He released her, but not before decidedly removing her pendant, snapping the cord from her neck with brutality.  She repressed a cry of protest. “It would only be too easy to become lost in your precious mortal world – what with all these things…” his gloved hand gestured with revulsion at the expanse of the dark room.    
  
Sarah had kept the room fairly well-ordered despite its cluster of junk.  The room she inhabited was filled with remnants of decades long since departed. The disarray of old clothing, dress models, moth-eaten fur coats, and crippled machines was lined up in as tidy a fashion possible in the modest room.   
  
“None of it is mine…” Sarah stared at him with a hardened stare.   
  
“Is that so?” Jareth turned back, his body facing hers once more.  
  
“I’m renting the room,” She continued, voice dispassionate. “This all belongs to the owner of the house.”   
  
Jareth appeared completely uninterested by that knowledge, simply ignoring it. “Aren’t you tempted by so many pretty things?”  
  
Sarah watched a crystal appear in his fingers, its faint glow reflecting and emphasizing the glass on the decrepit china cabinet, the broken mirror. Jewelry glinted, winking at her.   
  
“You’ve already offered me things.” Sarah’s voice had become too bold. Jareth shoved her against the wall with surprising force   
“And you rejected my gifts.” His voice was uncomfortably soft.  Sarah noticed the sounds beneath the floor and above the ceiling had ceased. The room held its breath.   
  
“A gift is freely given…you ask for too much, Goblin King.”   
  
He was silent for a moment – only the rain continued, tentatively, outside the windowpane.  Sarah could feel the wall behind the pressure of his body.  She tried to move, but was held firmly immobile.   
__  
Your eyes can be so cruel…just as I can be so cruel.  
  
He laughed, a deep sound shrouded in ominous suggestion. He pulled them both away from the wall, her body still pressed against his. She clenched her hands against him, body stiff with fear.  Jareth held the crystal with his free hand before her eyes drawing her in like a moth to flame.   
  
“Ah…precious thing,” he crooned, gripping her with force, “No one can deny their dreams forever.”   
  
Sarah closed her eyes, as a gust of storm engulfed the room.  The gale seemed to sweep the two into the air, hurling her virulently into oblivion. For so many years she had waited for her fears to be realized – the ghost has finally come to take her.


	2. The Queen's Complaint

**The Queen's Complaint**

  
In ruck and quibble of courtfolk   
This giant hulked, I tell you, on her scene   
With hands like derricks,   
Looks fierce and black as rooks;   
Why, all the windows broke when he stalked in.  
  
  
Her dainty acres he ramped through   
And used her gentle doves with manners rude;   
I do not know   
What fury urged him slay   
Her antelope who meant him naught but good.  
  
  
She spoke most chiding in his ear   
Till he some pity took upon her crying;   
Of rich attire   
He made her shoulders bare   
And solaced her, but quit her at cock's crowing.  
  
  
A hundred heralds she sent out   
To summon in her sight all doughty men   
Whose force might fit   
Shape of her sleep, her thought-   
None of that greenhorn lot matched her bright crown.  
  
  
So she is come to this rare pass   
Whereby she treks in blood through sun and squall   
And sings you thus :   
'How sad, alas, it is   
To see my people shrunk so small, so small.'

* * *

  
  
  
Found in the previous residence of Sarah Williams...  
  
 _Summer has never been the same for me. Not since the summer I turned fifteen. Nothing changed, on the surface except that I stopped dressing up._  
  
The last costume I wore was white, a dress – crude white cloth, over jeans. It had been threatening to rain, and that’s why I’d wanted to go out.  No one would be watching a girl in the park if it was going to rain. They’d all be inside, eating dinner. The park had been pretty empty. Come to think of it, maybe not as empty as I’d thought…  
  
Well, Toby had been crying.  And I had to watch him again. I was angry, I’ll tell you that. Fifteen years of being torn between two parents, then three – and now I was expected to take care of the newest addition to our family. Of course, I would have like to live with my mother.  I did try to, after Karen and Dad couldn’t handle me anymore.   
School became even more of a routine than before.  First year of high school. I couldn’t have cared less.   
  
I signed up for Drama Club, but I never went to any of the meetings. I think I did join some other groups too – but I can’t remember what they were. I was always a fairly good student, but I just couldn’t  stir myself anymore.  Pen or pencil touches paper – and out poured the epic tales of the Labyrinth, and its overseer.  I wrote on margins, homework, napkins. Eventually a teacher found some of it and convinced me to display it.    I thought that it was strange – and became an unknown member of yet another club.   
  
Karen, always well dressed (usually in well structured pastels), gave up on trying to make me grow up. Partly because, in a small way, I had – even as I routinely shuddered in the mornings, downing black coffee to make it through the day, after yet another sleepless night.   
  
I saw Hoggle only once more after that night.  He appeared for only a few minutes, offering hasty a warning that the Goblin King was already wrecking vengeance wherever he saw fit – which seemed to be almost everywhere. Well, he left, and I haven’t seen him since. Then the Goblin King seemed to tire of the dead Labyrinth.   
  
He came for me instead.  
  
Depending on his mood, my dreams would vary. They always started with the ballroom. Every night, I’d hear the music, the crystals surround me. That white dress was clean and sparkling at the beginning. Rarely did it remain pristine. I never slept through the entire night, and more than once that music box was playing in the darkness when I’d awake.  Eventually I began to tear down my room – everything made me think of the Labyrinth, and whenever I’d remember the Labyrinth, I would remember him.   
  
Karen at first happily agreed to helping me redo my room, but began to question my desire to completely remove it all from the house.  Toby inherited a great deal of my things, to my dismay, and the music box was left in the attic. At least once a week, I’d wake to find it on my bedside table, and return it to the attic. I tried avoiding the house whenever I could.   
  
The library became my refuge.  Now I poured through fantasy and fairy-tales, not in search of entertainment, but answers. I learned then, that Jareth was Fae. And I learned how to keep the dreams away from me…at least most of the time.   
  
The first night I sprinkled salt around my bed, the rustling ceased, and those mismatched eyes could only stare angrily from the darkness. One morning I remember particularly well, after a solid four hours of sleep sans dreams, I stepped carefully over the protective circle and was greeted with a crystal ball at my feet. I kicked it, and it shattered.   
  
Eventually Jareth passed through the protective circle, but it wasn’t until I was in college. A well-meaning roommate had swept the salt clean.  I fell asleep, and found myself once more in the dream, this time it lasted so long. I must have slept eight hours, more than I ever do, but I didn’t feel like I had been sleeping when I woke that morning. I spent an hour in the bathroom, cleaning myself, shaking, before school. I sought the library again, to find other ways in which I could protect myself from him.   
  
The iron pendant became a part of my everyday outfit. It got to the point that if I didn’t have it, and sometimes even if  I did, I would sometimes see him, in the corner of my eye, even if the sun shone, and I was in class, or walking around the campus. He would always be laughing, jeering, his grin pompous. A part of me felt drawn, but the other screamed, railing violently against the possibility of encountering the Goblin King.   
  
I lost count of the number of roommates I had. Each experienced some form of my experience. Most complained of my screams at night, after they had “cleaned up” the room. Those who didn’t do such a service would complain of strange dreams, spheres in their beds, and feathers. As if a chicken had shed in there.   
  
“Not a chicken…it’s an owl.”  
  
The incredulous looks came in the dozens.   
  
I stayed with my mother in the summers. Karen was not pleased with my sleeping habits, afraid Toby would somehow inherit my nightmares. I readily agreed to the change – I wanted to keep my little brother safe, and for a fleeting instant, I hoped that the City would maybe frighten the Fae Lord, and keep him from me. But the Goblin King would follow me – even to New York City.   
  
My mother, with her hectic schedule, was not so concerned with the dust I collected, and didn’t complain about the scattered salt terribly often. I began to enlarge the circle, and placed salt at the window-sills, in small quantities, which kept the dreams at bay even more effectively. I had about a week of regular sleep, until I began to shake and cry at night, as if I were a drug addict, having withdrawals.   
  
The salt was all swept away by a maid, and I didn’t wear my pendant to bed. That morning I awoke in a daze, after haphazard waking and sleeping. My mother handed me my daily bitter cup of coffee, glancing strangely toward my part of the apartment.  
  
“I didn’t know you still had that music box.”   
  
I glanced up, confused. There it was, clear glass, shining ominously.   
  
“You look pale dear…is everything alright?”  
  
“I didn’t bring it…I mean, I guess I thought I hadn’t.”   
  
She nodded, going back to her newspaper. When I returned after a day running around the city, the music box had disappeared, replaced with a crystal. I was afraid to touch it, and hid it in a sock until I could find the time to deal with it.   
  
That night I could not have told you if I was asleep or no, but I rose feeling beaten, more tired than when I had gone to bed. I felt hunger – not for food – but that primal, instinct. I hungered for power. It was a hangover, the morning after being drunk with lust. If I remember that dream, I wouldn’t allow myself to.    
  
The dreams kept coming as such, until I finally smashed the crystal. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would come for me, though. He simply would bide his time.    
  
By the time I had finished college, I was living by myself, in the attic of a nearby house. The people beneath rarely stayed in the house, and since it was so old, they believed the water pipes or something was having a problem, and I’d promise to look into it. I learned every way I could to prevent him. I have no life outside of it now. Each time it would work, but each obstacle he would find a way to overcome.   
  
Every night he comes to try to take me. One night he will succeed.


	3. Doom of Exiles

**Doom of Exiles**  
  
Now we, returning from the vaulted domes  
Of our colossal sleep, come home to find  
A tall metropolis of catacombs  
Erected down the gangways of our mind.  
  
Green alleys where we reveled have become  
The infernal haunt of demon dangers;  
Both seraph song and violins are dumb;  
Each clock tick consecrates the death of strangers  
  
Backward we traveled to reclaim the day  
Before we fell, like Icarus, undone;  
All we find are altars in decay  
And profane words scrawled black across the sun.  
  
Still, stubbornly we try to crack the nut  
In which the riddle of our race is shut.

* * *

  
  
In an ageless flurry of changing winds Sarah held tightly to her captor. The world around them seemed to dissolve and shift – or perhaps it stayed the same as they were altered? She kept her eyes shut, body rigid as the strange absence of time and place touched her. Unlike the pleasant floating sensation of her victory, returning home, she felt as if she was the eye of a violent storm.  
  
Minutes, hours? She opened her eyes and could see only grey night. The common, understanding storm clouds of her world forgotten, these suffocated the night sky, allowing only a scant, eerie light to pass between them in sickly, dull illumination. She could tell she was laying on her back, as various debris protruded from an already rigid surface, poking into the thin cloth of her inside-out T-shirt.  
  
A groan escaped her; slowly muscles began to warm and she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her arms cried with the effort. Eyes adjusted to the pale darkness and she could see his blurry silhouette, not unlike a shadow against the dull sky.  
  
“All hail the Queen…” his voice was derisive and almost silent. Sarah slowly surveyed the countless ruins and piled heaps of stone.  
  
“Where am I?” Her voice was hollow, disbelieving, as she stood. His laughter pervaded the darkness.  
  
“It’s further than you think…”  
  
The Labyrinth.  
  
The landscape suddenly changed. The sky above her swirled, orange light breaking through tears of the virulent clouds, revealing the impossible wreckage. The passage of hundreds of years would not have sufficed to reach the magnitude of the devastation before her: beaten rubble, broken fortresses and decrepit thresholds of the since fallen corridors was all that remained of the maze.  
  
His hand gripped her shoulder. Sarah felt the sick feeling of deja-vu, as she half-turned her head to look at him. The Goblin King’s cool gaze was more unsettling than any level of wrath.  
  
“…and time is short.”  
  
It’s a ghost…just another memory…  
  
The memory shattered; his hand firmly gripped her chin.  
  
“See what I have become…” His words were tinged with venom, and she fruitlessly writhed in his grasp.  
  
“You have no power—”  
  
His laughter interrupted her with vulgar triumph – and he viciously released her. Sarah fought to regain her balance, scrambling away from his stolid countenance. She stumbled away from him, trying to run away – to anywhere but where she was. The Goblin King did not move – his figure a shadow in the distance, as she reached far enough.  
  
“Hoggle?” Sarah surveyed the unchanging remains, eyes wide with fear. She began to run, almost skimming above the cracked rocks  
  
“Hoggle!” Sarah’s voice cracked as she shouted. “Ludo? Sir Didymus?”  
  
She gasped as Jareth appeared across from her. His impassive expression slid into a sneer then a smile. “It’s no use Sarah.” In his hand he played a crystal back and forth, images flickering from within.  
  
“I need you Hoggle!”  
  
Sarah searched in the dead grass and rubble – there was nothing but the endless wreckage of stone. She felt fear creeping through her as she could find no fairies, no goblins even. Water that once came from fountains sat stagnant, covered in algae.  
  
“There’s no one left!” Jareth’s voice carried in the dead air with force enough to stir a breeze. Sarah, terror-stricken, hugged against a lone partition, clinging to the moss covered stone. She listened as long-dried twigs snapped under his feet like delicate bones.  
  
“Where are they? What happened?”  
  
His black laughter spilled across her feet, crawling up her spine. Its acidity was palpable. Sarah shuddered, watching the gray sky swirl once more, in accordance to the Goblin King. He played the crystal across his fingers, transferring it effortlessly between them, and balanced it precariously on the back of his hand before releasing it, then letting it rest in his palm.  
  
“It’s just a crystal, nothing more…”  
  
It flew through the air, smashing instantly against the broken rocks. Glass littered the air, in pieces so small they sparkled like snow as they fell to the ground. Sarah tried to protect her face, hiding in the bend of her arms, shrinking away from the debris. Glass embedded itself into her arms, hair and clothing.  
  
“..but if you turn it this way, it will show your you dreams.”  
  
His voice amplified, Sarah felt his grasp and cried out as he pulled her hair, forcing her to meet face to face. He practically spat the words. Her arms began to bleed from the shards, his grip forcing them deeper into her skin.  
  
“This is not a gift for an ordinary girl...”  
  
Sarah writhed away from him, voice cracking as the particles dug into her arms. Blood began to seep through his gloves. “Stop it! Let go!”  
  
His grip tightened, she let out a cry of pain. “…who takes care of a screaming baby.” He puller her face to his, so their eyes were mere inches apart. Sarah’s chest rose and fell, her breath audible.  
  
“Do you want it?”  
  
She shoved him away, and fell backward, her voice practically screaming.  
  
“No!”  
  
His face darkened, his eyes glinting with vehemence. “Liar.”  
  
“No!”  
  
“Liar…” he hissed, advancing on her.  
  
She tried backing away from him, almost in a crab-walk. He knelt between her legs, hand on the back of her neck.  
  
“You want me.” He crooned, softly touching her cheek with his thumb. Sarah trembled involuntarily.  
  
“No…no...” her words came out drawn, her voice strained. Her arms unwittingly wrapped around him. “Please don’t do this…”  
  
He laughed, low in his throat as he descended upon her. “I don’t have to dear Sarah.”


	4. Mad Girl's Love Song

**Mad Girl's Love Song**  
  
"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;  
I lift my lids and all is born again.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)  
  
The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,  
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
  
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed  
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)  
  
God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:  
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
  
I fancied you'd return the way you said,  
But I grow old and I forget your name.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)  
  
I should have loved a thunderbird instead;  
At least when spring comes they roar back again.  
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.  
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

* * *

  
  
_One night he will succeed…_  
  
“No…” she steeled herself against him, moaning quietly. “…no.”  
  
Sarah clenched her eyes tightly, unyielding to his gentle caress.  He tenderly brushed the hair from her forehead and cheek with soft fingers, supple skin cool against hers. She noted that he must not be wearing his gloves. Shivering she made an involuntary sound from the back of her throat. He growled in response, his breath cold against her exposed shoulder, as his lips pressed against the expanse of her collar bone.  
  
When she finally opened her eyes, Sarah couldn’t see anything.    
  
“This is an oubliette…” his voice was too low, too soft.  
  
She stared into the empty blackness, shuddering, then pressed her palm upwards, colliding with his chest.  
  
“….a place you put people to forget about them.”  
  
Her voice was hollow as she finished, and the cavern filled with rich, sinister laughter. Sarah winced audibly as she felt his hands roughly grasp her arms.  
  
“There is no oubliette to contain me Sarah!”  
  
He snarled at her. Sarah jerked, heart racing as she heard the tinkling sound of broken glass. Crystal shards like an explosion rained to the floor, carrying with them a tiny shard of light, and landed on the floor of the cavern, shining like misplaced stars. The girl brought her gaze back to the Goblin King, gasping. Feral, mismatched eyes searched her body ravenously. She could still feel his fingers digging into her arms – surely they’d leave a bruise.  
  
“…and there is no oubliette for me to hold you, precious thing.”  
  
He pressed her to the floor of the dark cave. Pain shot through her arm as the glass dug into her forearms again. His lips met hers; tasting her protest, then pained acceptance, even pleasure. Even as the glass buried itself deeper into her arms, she lifted her head to meet him, neck straining as he held her firmly in place. Like a drug – she knew she should have stopped long ago.  
  
“ The world will forget us – while we are in the oubliette.”  
  
His teeth bore down on her. Sarah screamed. All was black again.  
  
\---  
**Patient File**  
  
Name: Sarah Williams  
Gender: Female  
Date of Birth: December 12th, 1970  
Date of Admittance: July 15th, 1991  
Projected date of release: September 1st  
  
Notes: Patient found on the bank of nearby stream, glass embedded in forearms, other injuries including bruising on the arms and neck. Multiple-personality disorder and depression are suspect – dissociative amnesia according to accounts of patient’s parents.  
  
\----  
  
Journal of Sarah Williams…  
_  
They don’t let me fight him here— no  salt, no iron, I am a his mercy. My arms still sting with crystal shards. Although they were removed, the magic pulses through me now, slowly enveloping me, keeping me in my own oubliette and I slowly start forgetting myself.  
  
Clarity comes mostly in the form of my memories of him – all else is fading. The dream is more than anything now. The white gown, the endless masked faces – more real than the nurse who comes in each day to check on me.  
Even though he could hunt me – he has left me alone.  
  
I dream of blackness now – he denies me his presence, but I cannot forget him. He won’t let me…I don’t know if I could let myself forget him anyhow. Though I see nothing, I know he is there somewhere. I listen at night, between my empty dreams, for the soft call of the owls, or their silent wings. He could be right there – but owls are so quiet, I’d never know. So much like him. Silent predator…he has all the time in the world.  
  
I’m not crazy. I know what happened to me. I can’t explain it, but no one can explain everything! Even supposedly normal processes can’t be explained by everyone, and yet it’s real.  
  
I still fear that he’ll come for me – but I fear more that he won’t return. _  
  
\----------  
  
“Hey sweetheart, would you like more soup?” Karen glanced to Sarah, sitting complacently at the table.  
  
“Sure,” Sarah’s voice was tired, a little raspy. “Thanks Karen. Where’s Toby?”  
Karen passed ladled another cup of soup into Sarah’s bowl. “He’s at school Sarah, he started just a few days ago actually.”  
  
“Oh.” Sarah’s eyes traveled to the table, and began eating.  
  
“He grew up so fast.” Karen continued cooking, her voice fondly prattling about Toby’s many misadventures. Sarah nodded slowly, feigning interest, while she finished her soup.  
  
“Your mother is going to take care of you once she finishes her season run – do you want to do anything here before you go back to the city?”  
  
Sarah shook her head. “No, not really. Where do you want me to sleep?”  
  
“You can have your old room if you’d like – it’s the guest room now.”  
  
“Okay. Thank you.”  
  
Sarah finished, then made her way quietly upstairs to her old room. She sat on the end of the bed, and glanced around the now unfamiliar room. There was no crystal, no music box, no feathers.  
  
Nothing looked strange.  
  
“…to sleep, perchance to dream…” She whispered to herself, undressed and curled up beneath the white, crisp linen sheets Karen had used to replace the soft cotton of her youth.    
  
  
_She’s in the oubliette… She should never have gotten as far as the oubliette…_  
  
  
_she should have given up by now…_


	5. Sonnet to Satan

**Sonnet to Satan**

In darkroom of your eye the moonly mind  
someraults to couterfeit eclipse;  
bright angels black out over logic's land  
under shutter of their handicaps.  
Commanding that corkscrew comet jet forth ink  
to pitch the white world down in swiveling flood,  
you overcast all order's noonday rank  
and turn god's radiant photograph to shade.  
Steepling snake in that contrary light  
invades the dilate lens of genesis  
to print your flaming image in birthspot  
with characters no cockcrow can deface.  
O maker of proud planet's negative,  
obscure the scalding sun till no clocks move.  
  


* * *

  
 _...she'll never give up...  
  
Oh wont she? She'll soon give up when she realizes she'll have to start all over again!  
_  
Sarah lay prone on the old bed, covers drawn over her almost crassly.  They offered little warmth and she lay tensed, staring with empty eyes at the ceiling. The room flooded with moonlight, casting pale, placid shadows across the floor which she paid little attention to. A clock on the opposing wall ticked anxiously. She shut bloodshot eyes and released a barely audible sigh. This would be the last night at her father's and Karen's house, and then she would return to the city to live with her mother again, and try to finish school.  
  
Sarah laughed to herself at that prospect. Her mind was numb still, as if the drugs at the psych clinic still had an effect on her and her raging mind could not connect to her body. With a scowl, she abruptly sat up and shoved away the covers. Her fingers grasped the pen by the nightstand, and despite the darkness, she began to vigorously write. As she pressed it against the page it snapped. Ink spilled across her hands, into her lap. She cursed, and wiped her hands on her old t-shirt, and took another pen to continue, but the moonlight had suddenly vanished. With a start she realized the room was blanketed in silence – the incessant ticking no more. Afraid to talk, afraid to move, she tried to turn on small lamp beside her. It clicked several times, to no avail. Sarah held her breath in anxiety, straining to listen for the scuffling of feet or muffled cackling.    
  
 _Wings?_ The though crossed her mind, too late for her to make the connection.   
  
Soft sounds again... then whispers. “I am that which passes in between...you summon me with the blood on your hands, my precious thing.”   
  
Cool lips pressed against hers in the darkness. And everything came back to her...  
  
“You-”  
  
“Who else, dear Sarah.” One had had found a comfortable on her waist, making a semi-circle as it clutched gently. She raised a hand to shove him away, and he held it firmly. “ You need me Sarah.”   
  
“No! I-”  She stopped herself, his words sinking in.  
  
“And I need you.”   
  
Sarah's body shook as her breathing grew irregular. A tear, the first in months, came to the surface.   
  
“I don't want this!...”  
  
“Oh really Sarah?” His tone was biting. She flinched.   
  
“I --” She faltered, and clutched the fabric of the bedspread. She expected him to laugh at her, but his eyes met hers with a somber gaze. “Why me?”  
  
“You defeated the Labyrinth, you have broken an old curse, and released old demons. You think these things have no consequences?” His fingers lingered along her jawline.   
  
“What are you talking about?”   
  
“Oh come now Sarah! You read the story – I know it. You read it, practically memorized it before you met me. You know the rest of the story.”   
  
“You have now power over me.” She spat.   
  
He scoffed. “The rest of it Sarah – that wasn't the end of the story.”   
  
“But you destroyed the Labyrinth – I saw!”   
  
“You think I could have done that dear one?” He laughed   
bitterly. “What your friends didn't realize is that once a runner defeats the labyrinth it cannot stand without their presence. You condemned them all when you disappeared.”   
  
“Why are you still here then?” she demanded.   
  
“I existed beyond the Labyrinth – as did some of the other   
creatures who were forced to relocate. I have always been a transient creature, but my other powers have disappeared along with my old kingdom.”   
  
His eyes met hers. “You must return with me.”   
  
“I can't leave!”   
  
“Why? You've built yourself a life have you? You condemn thousands of creatures to a rootless existence through your poor choices.”  
  
“I didn't choose anything Jareth!”   
  
He pulled her towards him, roughly grasping her wrist and waist. “You must return with me again.”   
  
“No!” she tried to pull herself down, trying to become dead weight. His grip didn't falter. “Please!”   
  
“It's not like I'm going to kill you Sarah...”   
  
“What do you want with me?”  
  
He glared. “Remember the story Sarah. Or perhaps you need it explained in explicit detail?”   
  
“Oh god...”   
  
“I suppose the meaning would escape a child's understanding.”   
  
“The merging of kingdoms...”  her voice was hollow.   
  
“Very good Sarah. I didn't think you'd have forgotten. You are right – I have no real power over you, but I am not completely powerless my   
dear. I cannot force this on you, but I will do whatever I can to convince you.”   
  
She clenched her fingers. “Is that all I need to do? Sleep with you?”   
  
“Oh it's so much more than that – but in human terms, I suppose. It takes but once for the spell to complete – the Labyrinth can be revived.”   
  
“And my friends?”  
  
“If you truly want to repair the Labyrinth you must stay with me Sarah.   
Forever.”   
  
_Only forever...it's not long at all...._  
  
“And if I don't stay?”   
  
“You'll have to come back eventually. The Labyrinth is yours now, as much as it is mine...what's left of it.”  
  
He released her, a pained look crossed his face, not unlike when she first refused him.  
  
“Fine.”   
  
“You have to wish for it.”   
  
_Say the right words...._

“What do I say?”

“You know what to say...”

  
 _The way forward is sometimes the way back..._  
  
“I wish...the Goblin King would come and take me away right now.”  
He laughed. “You have no power over me...”   
  
Sarah's eyes widened in horror as she watched herself transform into a small, black bird. Behind her, the white owl nudged her forwards and the two took to the sky, to make the journey to the Underground.   
  
_...and sometimes it seems like we're not getting anywhere, when in fact...we are._


	6. Pursuit

**Pursuit**

  
There is a panther stalks me down:   
One day I'll have my death of him;   
His greed has set the woods aflame,   
He prowls more lordly than the sun.   
Most soft, most suavely glides that step,   
Advancing always at my back;   
From gaunt hemlock, rooks croak havoc:   
The hunt is on, and sprung the trap.   
Flayed by thorns I trek the rocks,   
Haggard through the hot white noon.   
Along red network of his veins   
What fires run, what craving wakes?   
  
Insatiate, he ransacks the land   
Condemned by our ancestral fault,   
Crying: blood, let blood be spilt;   
Meat must glut his mouth's raw wound.   
Keen the rending teeth and sweet   
The singeing fury of his fur;   
His kisses parch, each paw's a briar,   
Doom consummates that appetite.   
In the wake of this fierce cat,   
Kindled like torches for his joy,   
Charred and ravened women lie,   
Become his starving body's bait.   
  
Now hills hatch menace, spawning shade;   
Midnight cloaks the sultry grove;   
The black marauder, hauled by love   
On fluent haunches, keeps my speed.   
Behind snarled thickets of my eyes   
Lurks the lithe one; in dreams' ambush   
Bright those claws that mar the flesh   
And hungry, hungry, those taut thighs.   
His ardor snares me, lights the trees,   
And I run flaring in my skin;   
What lull, what cool can lap me in   
When burns and brands that yellow gaze?   
  
I hurl my heart to halt his pace,   
To quench his thirst I squander blood;   
He eats, and still his need seeks food,   
Compels a total sacrifice.   
His voice waylays me, spells a trance,   
The gutted forest falls to ash;   
Appalled by secret want, I rush   
From such assault of radiance.   
Entering the tower of my fears,   
I shut my doors on that dark guilt,   
I bolt the door, each door I bolt.   
Blood quickens, gonging in my ears:   
  
The panther's tread is on the stairs,   
Coming up and up the stairs.  
  


* * *

  
From the Journal of Sarah Williams ...  
  
 _I am frantic, I am hopeless. The greatest fear is my desire now. Powers that be...help me. There is but one, one true power, and I cannot break it from me. I cannot free myself from his chains...even if offered the chance I don't think I would! I am helpess before him. I fear him, but I can't allow myself to break from him. I need him, and I grow sick, I wither without his torturous dreams. I savor his nightmares. Endless are days and nights, unless I can find who  
  
I've got a much better plan..._  
  
\---------------------------------------------  
  
Left with little choice, Sarah stayed close behind the tail-feathers of the great white owl as strange winds and storm battered her small body through the journey.  In a timeless space, it finally ended, and she found herself on her knees, in short yellowed grass, overlooking the dried corpse of the swamp.  Dead trees, weathered, pitted stone. As far as the eye could see, it might as well have been black and white. Her hands feebly clutched at the dry soil, as if the roughness of its texture could offer any reassurance. When she finally sat up and glanced behind her, she saw Jareth stood mere inches away. His boots scuffed against the earth.   
  
  
“The glorious and magical kingdom – it's quite beautiful, isn't it my dear?” He grasped her hair to pull her to her feet, tugging roughly.   
  
She opened her mouth to protest, but gaped, realizing she couldn't speak.   
  
He smirked, and her stomach turned uneasily. “No time for arguing, precious thing. We have much work to do, you and I.” She got up quickly and he took her arm with little gentleness. She worked to keep pace with him as they walked across the expansive wasteland. It was neither hot nor cold, but the haze had already begun to clear, and above them real clouds gathered.   
  
The Goblin King looked pleased. “Already the Underground greets us, fair one. Hurry along, now.”   
  
When she finally realized she could speak again, she did so cautiously. “How did you do that?”  
  
“Do what, dear Sarah?”  
  
“You stopped me from speaking...”  
  
He smirked again, clearly enjoying himself, and pulled her against him as he came to a short stop. “You know, I'm sure, that the Fae do not lie. To come once more, you did have to wish yourself here – as you see, I have less power now than I did before. But you have given it back to me, my dear, with your wish.”   
  
_You have no power over me._  
  
The words echoed, though unspoken. Jareth watched the emotions play across her face with a controlled expression.   
  
“You can force me to do anything...”  
  
“Technically, yes. But I cannot force you to think or want for anything. If you hate me, I cannot change that. If you do not cooperate with me, willingly, I cannot bring back the Labyrinth.” He watched her. “We cannot revive the Labyrinth.”  
  
Sarah avoided his eyes. “...and you'll do your very best to convince me.”  
  
His hand cupped her chin, and he brought her face to his, placing them cheek to cheek, and nipped her ear. She whimpered, fearful but anxious for the promise it held. The air suddenly felt warm, balmy.   
  
“You're mine, Sarah. You can like it or not, but that fact won't change. If you come willingly, the Labyrinth can be restored in both our image. If you do not...” he let it linger.   
  
Her body trembled against his now, less fearful than enraptured. A moment of heat passed between them, the center of her body pulsed and she clenched her eyes shut, shuddering. His hands were suddenly encircling her waist, his thumbs pressing lightly into her shirt.   
  
“Are you doing this to me?” Her voice was low, strangled by desire.   
  
He laughed. “What do you mean by that?”  
  
“Magic-” she whimpered, as his hands crept beneath her shirt, grazing the underside of her breasts, so lightly. “Are you using – magic.”   
  
He leaned in to her neck, biting softly. She sighed, and gripped his arms tightly. One finger pinched at the delicate skin. “Oh, precious thing, I have no need to...”  
  
“No...” her voice was low, pleasured, but she shouted and broke suddenly, to run toward the gray bony trees.  She could feel his gaze burning behind her, though he had not moved.  She could sense that too... The clouds had gathered and she was quickly bathed in darkness. Her body ached as she scrambled through the forest; dead branches clung to her, scratching, snapping against her soft skin, tangling in her hair.  In the distance she heard a low, loud clap and suddenly stopped in amazement.    
  
Thunder.   
  
And how she felt him at her back.   
  
Sarah began to sprint, diving into the emaciated marshlands, weaving between the trees with strange speed she'd never before possessed. The forest was lit suddenly, followed by the boom of thunder, and the world trembled. She slipped causing her body to hit the earth painfully. Her palms were scraped and she thought she could feel them beginning to bleed. Sarah got to her feet, and pressed onward, now focused on reaching a clearing up ahead.  There the stones still stood in a somewhat tangible pile, the ruin of the wall.   
  
A tell-tale crackling was soon accented by the smell of smoke; and the forest lit again, with another clap of thunder. Flames followed her, as surely as he did.   
  
She opened her arms, and as if by nature, took flight.  She didn't dwell on this new talent, as she flew instinctively toward the center of the Labyrinth; the Goblin City. The junk heaps vacated save for a few broken scraps. Ruined walls were surrounded by a desertous moat.  The sky roared again, and as she dove toward the destroyed hovels of the city, she was intercepted, caught in flight.  The great white bird clenched her small body tightly with its talons, one piercing her wing, and she shrilled, screaming with the tumultuous weather. Her eyes rolled and she flapped haphazardly as they neared the stone foundation of what remained of Jareth's castle.   
  
His wings berated, battering her small, black body.  She was suddenly human again, as if she were lost in the transition, and he stood, looming before her.  The sky erupted above them.   
  
“The Labyrinth awakens at our touch – at our desires.” He lifted her shirt in one fluid movement and removed it.  Sarah gazed at him intently, struck still and speechless.   
  
“You keep running – always you run from yourself Sarah.” He knelt above her, “Why..?” He kissed her lips gingerly, tenderly. She brought her hands to his shoulders, her fingers barely grazing his shirt.   
  
“Why do you run?” This kiss was deeper, probing. “Why do you run from your desire, precious thing?”  
  
Her breathing slowed as she relaxed, and the storm quelled for the moment, though the clouds had blotted out the sky, leaving them in almost utter darkness. Sara felt her hands still wet and warm. Still bleeding.  Jareth took hold of her right hand, bringing her palm to his face, and pressed his lips against the ravaged skin. She let out a quick gasp of pain, but did not resist his gentle administrations.   
  
“You summon this land with the blood on your hands...”  
  
She was suddenly locked in his embrace, and as he kissed her now, roughly, she could taste the sweet, metallic sheen of her own blood.  His body was lithe, and strong and her blood boiled spilling onto him as her hands searched his chest. His own hands carefully lowered her body to the ground, and began to search her body expertly.  His mouth released hers and traveled downwards, to find her breasts.  He nipped against the skin, soft enough so it wouldn't break, his tongue flicked against her nipple. Her chest rose and fell now rapidly and the storm began to thicken again.  A low rumble through the sky, as if urging them on.    
  
Jareth brought his free hand to her thigh, digging in just enough to make her cry out and crept higher.  His movements were slow; enough to taunt her, causing her to grasp his shoulders with fervor, her fingers digging under his shirt, into his flesh. He gave a low growl, and bit harder. Her body racked and tensed suddenly as she cried out, and he brought his hand to the apex of her thighs.  The sudden pressure overwhelmed her. Sarah rocked her hips towards him, pressing him against her body.   
  
Jareth kissed the valley between her breasts, and began to ply against her, searching for the fastest way to make her come for him. She twitched, and shivered as he touched her, exploring gently and shuddered with a soft sigh as he pressed against it.  He found a rhythm and her body rocked with his pulses, encouraging him to continue... begging.   
  
“Please...please...” Sarah let out a high-pitched sound, and her fingers dug painfully into her palms. “Oh god!”  
  
She brought herself against him clutching her body as close to his as she could, as his fingers continued to pry, pressing and pushing against her. She yelped, and her body shook violently as he brought her again, screaming his name. Her fingers came away from his back bloodied. As their blood mixed and she rode her pleasure, there was one final thrumming sound from the clouds, before Sarah fell into darkness.   
  
Then it began to rain.


	7. Cinderella

**Cinderella**  
  
The prince leans to the girl in scarlet heels,   
Her green eyes slant, hair flaring in a fan   
Of silver as the rondo slows; now reels   
Begin on tilted violins to span   
  
The whole revolving tall glass palace hall   
Where guests slide gliding into light like wine;   
Rose candles flicker on the lilac wall   
Reflecting in a million flagons' shine,   
  
And glided couples all in whirling trance   
Follow holiday revel begun long since,   
Until near twelve the strange girl all at once   
Guilt-stricken halts, pales, clings to the prince   
  
As amid the hectic music and cocktail talk   
She hears the caustic ticking of the clock  
  
  


* * *

  
  
 _Everything's dancing...._  
  
Who's there?   
  
_My, what pretty dancing shoes you have!_  
  
The voices floated in her mind, lulling, soft, and gentle. Everything is a blur.   
  
Where am I?   
  
Eyes open, that room, the candles and cushions and decadence. They little the floor, like forgotten articles. The party has vanished.   
  
“There is no one here.”  
  
She is standing on the stairwell, but feels as if little has changed. This is the same, but not. That song – the gentle voices. Voice. The blur fades, the room suddenly begins to fill – where she thought she saw only ruin, there is suddenly a masked woman, and then a partner for her. The room fills, and now she is lost. She is looking for someone.   
  
_..just like a pale jewel..._  
  
It is the same, and it is not. She finds the crowd now parts for her, they do not mock her, and dance slowly.  A couple bows, as she passes. The dress is as light as air – she feels clean. Veiled, she feels different in this familiar scene.  Her gait is confident, the dress sways naturally about her, even the very air seems new, different, a part of her. She feels things are not really alive, but that the illusion is still real, and reality is the illusion – things that do not make sense comfort her. Such is the way of things, at The Crystal Ball.   
  
_Dear me! What pretty dancing shoes!_  
  
Hands find hers, and he kneels before her, an old, courtly gesture. She nods, and he places a gentle kiss on the back of her hand, delicate but lingering – too sensual to be appropriate. She doesn't mind, and he pulls himself up, languidly, his adorned body lithe and cruel. They are whisked into the dance, with more energy than in her distant memory. The others resume their dancing, and the crowd sways in elegant fancy, the room growing darker, then lighter. The furniture is mended, and the hangings pull themselves together. More couples flood the ever-growing Ball but she only sees one. They still dance.   
  
His head nestles against the shoulder, his breath tickling the back of her neck.  “Such pretty dancing shoes you have, my precious thing.”  
  
They whirl again, now faster, in a frenzy. The room starts to spin. He holds her closely, almost roughly, his hand and fingers digging into her side.   
  
“Dance you shall,” said he, “dance in your red shoes till you are pale and cold, till your skin shrivels up and you are a skeleton! Dance you shall, from door to door, and where proud and wicked children live you shall knock, so that they may hear you and fear you!”   
  
And in on her feet, a pair of red dancing shoes. “No! Please!”   
  
“Dance you shall, dance—!”   
  
Suddenly it stopped, there was darkness and she was shoved off-balance, landing on her back against a surface, sinful and soft, now kicking and struggling in her pretty dancing shoes, until they are ripped off, and cast aside. There is only him, now, and he is above her, bearing down.   
  
“Mercy!” She feels tears blotting her eyes, exhaustion already setting in.   
  
“But you must Sarah... you must continue. The clock is ticking, my precious thing.”  
  
“No – no!” Sarah clung to him then, fearful and began to weep. The clock was louder with each passing second.   
  
_Without you we shall die._  
  
A welling, emptiness, painful guilt overcame her, as she fought with herself. Such a small price to pay; but one would always be indebted. He placed her down again, his naked chest against hers, and they kissed, passionately, his teeth against her lips, that strange, sweet, light-headed aroma, like a glass of wine brought to her lips, just a taste. She responded, holding him against her with equal fervor, grasping her nails digging into his back. And she felt him grow hard against her exposed body – it was just two of them now, amidst the fog of desires and creation. He pushed her away from his body, pinning her arms to her sides as he smiled above her, grasping her breasts, pinching her nipples, already sensitive to his touch. She moaned trying to press closer to him, and his fingers dug deeper, bruising just below the skin. Her body twitched, her eyes begging him, as he trailed along her stomach, nails digging into her sides, softly then hard, until the skin reddened angrily.   
  
As she struggled against him, for his touch, his satisfaction grew. He teased her, trailing the tip of himself against her exposed self, until he could feel her desires, wet on his skin, and hers – the scent lingering delicately in the air. She rose her hips to him, an grotesque offering, a remnant of days before etiquette and refined mannerisms, when there was only lust and pure, primal instinct.   
  
“Do I still not have power over you, Sarah?” He growled, taunting her, as her body reached for him, a silent entreaty. She whimpered, her senses flooded, overwhelmed as her glazed eyes met his. “What do you think Sarah?”  
  
“No!” She cried, and as he thrust into her, her mind shattered, just as the crystal in that forsaken cave, and the Crystal Ball in her efforts to save her baby brother, so many years ago. But now, suspended in the cradle of magic as then, she could save entire worlds, and she could not save herself. Her body rocked, wantonly, and she found her pleas grow softer, catching herself, and still falling as he rocked against her, touched her. In the distance, as if she heard thunder, rain, everything at once. His mouth ravaged hers, his tongue plunging into her with the same ferocity as he did below.   
  
All in one moment, to her shock, she found herself responding, eagerly, unable to stop herself from lifting her hips, matching his rhythm with one of her own, offset enough to make her shudder with pleasure, as they consumed each other, frantically. When she pushed him away, he now had to pry her loose, as her legs  wrapped around him, clinging with abandon. Every inch that touched felt alive, a burning fervor that perpetuated as she screamed her orgasm against him, whimpering softly into his shoulder, as he bit her neck, hard enough to draw blood.  She felt her body, wracked in intolerable pleasure, again and again, grasping with every muscle each time, until finally, nearly spent, he released himself and flowed into her.   
  
He kissed her gently, and the world, reality, shifted again.


	8. To Eva Descending the Stair

**To Eva Descending the Stair**  
  
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;  
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.  
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)  
The asteroids turn traitor in the air,  
And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;  
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.  
Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:  
Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.  
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)  
Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,  
In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;  
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.  
Loud the immortal nightingales declare:  
Love flames forever if the flesh be yearning.  
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)  
Circling zodiac compels the year.  
Intolerant beauty never will be learning.  
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.  
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)  
  


* * *

  
 _Fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave...._  
  
Sarah opened her eyes, squinting in the sunlight. An aura, a feeling washed over her, ebbing and flowing unable to solidify as she watched the sun rise on the Labyrinth for the first time since she defeated Jareth, so many years ago.  Her body was wracked with pain, sore from their exertions, and from the textures she felt, cool against her skin, she could tell she was nude.   
  
She stood up, marveling at herself, the body of a woman; but so much more than just that. She felt strange, and looked around and marveled at the creation that surrounded her in awe. His creation.  
  
No.  
  
Her creation.   
  
"The Labyrinth has been restored." Her voice was breathless, soft, appreciating the subtleties of this new beginning.   
  
"No." A voice. His voice, behind her. "The Labyrinth has been reborn."  
  
She looked at him, perfect in his nakedness. And she was not ashamed of her own. It was as the beginning of time, when Adam and Eve first opened their eyes to see the garden of Eden. But they were the God and Goddess of this domain. This was their garden, their sacred home, and it was from passion and violence that all things flourished.   
  
They stood amongst the tall grasses, sapling trees, and blossoming buds of flowers and fruits of every kind, the sweet smells of springtime eternal encompassed the realm, stretching to the horizon. It was not the same crippling stone or gnarled trees she remembered from her first time in the Labyrinth. Now it was a virtual paradise, though an undeveloped, yet uninhabited paradise.   
You have no power over me.  
  
Sarah met Jareth's eyes, and both knew the truth of all that encompassed the Labyrinth, and Jareth's own offer, at the end of their beginning.   
  
"You loved me." Her voice, no longer frail, fearful nor uncertain, as she addressed him. Her eyes, green as the foliage surrounding them. A wind stirred, now at her command. The hush before the dawn seemed to exist in that transient moment, the world holding its breath.  
  
"It matters little now." The sarcasm was completely absent from his voice, and her heart seemed to swell as she looked at him, now a shadow of himself as the power of the Labyrinth absorbed into herself.   
  
"I didnt know..." Sarah whispered. "I was so young."  
  
"There must be a beginning and end to us all, my precious thing." He kissed her forehead, touching her cheek. "The Labyrinth is yours."  
  
As if to emphasize his words, the garden around them began to flower, the budding trees blossoming in sudden ecstasy, as the vines came to her feet, offering their flowers to the Queen before them. A blood-red rose, from her imagined past and future came to her hand, and availed itself to her without thorns. She held it in her fingers, in awe at its raw beauty, and watched as she was clothed in finery from the loving garden.   
  
"The Labyrinth will be made in your image – it is for you to decide whatever that shall be."  
  
"What should I do Jareth?" She wore a splendid green dress, pristine, with roses in her hair, a picture of fertility that the Labyrinth had so long been absent of. The world around her came alive. He stood on barren ground, given life only by her proximity. Their eyes met, and Sarah watched, unable to understand, as his eyes seemed to dull, glossing over. He watched her like stone.   
  
"Jareth... are you alright? What's wrong?"  
  
He closed his eyes, standing straight and still, and seemed dull in enthusiasm, colour...everything. "Without the end, there can be no beginning, Sarah."   
  
"What do you mean! Jareth – please!"   
  
He smiled, sadly. "Look into yourself, Sarah. You are no longer a frail human girl to be a toy of the Labyrinth and its subjects. Your sacrifice, your passion created the Labyrinth. You are the Labyrinth. You are the Queen."   
  
He seemed light and airy, empty. "You are free, Sarah."   
  
"Jareth – no!" She reached for him, and as she did, thorns from her lovely roses wound around his ankles, digging in. Blood dripped along the skin of his leg, but he did not flinch.   
  
"You no longer need my help, Sarah."   
  
"But I want your help, Jareth – I don't want to do this alone."   
  
_Say the right words..._  
  
He looked older, with each passing second, without actually aging. The sidhe do not die, they fade.   
  
"I am losing magic, Sarah, I have been since you defeated me. There is no stopping this process. Change must occur, and for every creation there must be death."   
  
The sun was out, as well as the moon over the Labyrinth, and stars in the daylight availed themselves, shining with triumph. Sarah surveyed the world, so alive, so new, so beautiful. Her suffering, her humiliation, and her passion had created this.   
"The Labyrinth is yours, Sarah, you must  take it, and care for it as its steward." He barely made eye contact, his hair almost white, face like parchment.   
  
"Wait." She put her arms out suddenly, and everything stopped moving, the wind itself died down, snuffed out. The flow of magic continued, as she felt herself connect to every part of this new world.   
  
_...just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want..._  
  
"Wish for me Jareth! Wish for your dreams!"  
  
"As you wish, my Lady."  
  
 _...fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave..._  
  
They embraced, and she clung to his frail self as tightly as she could.   
An explosion of light... and emptiness, as the the stars moved, the planets aligned, and the creation of a new world, in place of the old, overtook the Underground.


	9. Sonnet: To Eva

**Sonnet : To Eva**  
  
All right, let's say you could take a skull and break it  
The way you'd crack a clock; you'd crush the bone  
Between steel palms of inclination, take it,  
Observing the wreck of metal and rare stone.  
This was a woman : her loves and stratagems  
Betrayed in mute geometry of broken  
Cogs and disks, inane mechanic whims,  
And idle coils of jargon yet unspoken.  
Not man nor demigod could put together  
The scraps of rusted reverie, the wheels  
Of notched tin platitudes concerning weather,  
Perfume, politics, and fixed ideals.  
The idiot bird leaps up and drunken leans  
To chirp the hour in lunatic thirteens.  
  


* * *

  
"I wish the goblins would come and take you away right now!"   
  
A snap and a pop, the room was suddenly quiet.  The lights had gone out, and the cries of the child silenced. She ventured back into the room, tip-toes, and spoke aloud, apparently to no one.   
  
"Hello? Sarah? Are you okay?" The girl's frightened voice echoed across the room, and she jumped at the movement in the corner of her eye. She quivered with fear as she came to see the child was no longer in her bed.  Suddenly lightening thrashed, wind railing against the trees, howling through the branches which tapped against the window hastily.  She found herself darting this way and that, and fell to her knees, weeping.  
  
The Goblin Queen watched, wincing as the girl invoked the child's name.   
  
"Sarah! Please! I didn't mean it!" Her voice wailed, unable to compete with the wind. Suddenly, she found herself at the hems of the Queen's robe, and looked up, teary-eyed. She gasped, awed by the solemn beauty of the Queen who stood before her.  "You are the Goblin Queen."   
  
"Yes." Her voice was a whisper but echoed throughout the room. " I am."   
  
"Please bring Sarah back! Please!" The girl invoked her, begging.   
  
The Goblin Queen breathed out, her eyes closed. "What is said is said..."   
  
"I would do anything!" She cried, "Where is she?"   
  
"She is safe... in the Labyrinth." It was all like a very bad dream, but now she no longer played the protagonist...  
  
"Please bring her back, please!"   
  
The Goblin Queen touched the crown of the girls head, and placed her hand beneath girl's chin, encouraging her to stand. "Beyond the garden and the walls there is a castle – you will find your sister there, in my kingdom. You have thirteen hours in which to solve the Labyrinth before the child is lost to this place. Forever."   
  
The girl, with tear-stained eyes, gazed in awe at the magnificent vision before her.  The Labyrinth gate, made from wood, cut with silver and furnished with living vines, opened unto a vast garden. Within this garden, the girl would face many things. She would likely walk among the tall grasses, decorated trees, strange but beautiful plants and every type of flower one could imagine, with colors beyond the pigments so commonly found in a rainbow. Waterfalls, ravines, cliffs and jungles housed  only half-imagined creatures and remnants of nightmares. And behind this facade, the girl might find the part of the Labyrinth that never healed from its neglect. Though small, it would be an infinite wasteland, housing a collection of lost dreams and desires.  
  
The Queen imagined that the girl, like so many others, would be overcome with grief. In the wasteland, she would feel the emptiness and tragic loss that every runner before her had felt, along with the vaccuum created when the cycle did not complete itself. That is were most people felt lost – there was no way out because there was nothing.  There was no reason, no hope. The oubliette was a petty torture compared to the wasteland. In an oubliette, there is darkness. The wasteland shows you that there is nothing good and nothing bad waiting. There are no shadows, and there is no mystery. There is only the emptiness that you see around you. It creeps into your very being, all-consuming, until there is nothing left to die for or live for.   
  
This is the dead end that must be overcome for the Labyrinth to be solved, in this Queen's kingdom. There is no obstacle, no  creature, no inner grief that could cause as much fear as the nothingness in the wasteland.   
  
The Queen watched the girl walk forward, through the beautiful gate, and disappear, her hair falling past pretty shoulders, wide eyes, set and determined, so much like the Queen's long-remembered past.  The Queen herself continued to stare ahead, and watched the sky, as an owl flew toward her in full sunlight.  She watched his silhouette, against the sun, like some deity condemned to live among man, and lifted her hand skyward. In moments, and with silent wings, the bird landed, a comforting weight on her glove. She pet his head, scratching the skin beneath the feathers, and kissed his beak. The owl cooed, its mismatched eyes content.   
  
"Jareth... I want this girl to find her sister."   
  
The bird watched her, and blinked. It understood.  
  
"The child's name is Sarah..." The Queen looked on solemnly. "I take that as a sign that my reign is over. And that we can finally be free."   
The owl nipped its beak on her finger.   
  
"No one has made it past the wasteland, I know. But she must make it. Please help her, Jareth. There is hope yet."   
  
The bird fluttered its wings and disappeared without a sound.   
  
The Queen made her way to the gate, touching it with tenderness, and kissed the door gently, caressing the materials that made up the gardens.  Her creation is sick, and now she has found the key to completing that which she had never finished, that which was neither alive nor dead. The Labyrinth suffered stagnation – a stagnation with permeated her life, her dreams and her womb.   
  
"Goodbye, my love." She kissed the stones gratefully, eyes shining with unshed tears. "We shall meet soon, where we have been waiting for eternity."


End file.
